


A Sweet Suit

by misura



Category: Justice League (2017)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-25 13:06:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17121929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: Bruce gifts Clark a suit for Christmas.





	A Sweet Suit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Impala_Chick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impala_Chick/gifts).



Clark looks stunning in a suit.

Bruce isn't sure why he's surprised. He shouldn't be: he's the one who bought the damn suit in the first place. It seemed a good idea at the time, a nice present for a guy perfectly able to make a t-shirt and a pair of jeans look great. A way to (let's be fair here) give himself a little something for Christmas, too.

Just because Bruce feels obliged to throw a big Christmas party for a couple of hundred people, that doesn't mean he _enjoys_ it.

He enjoys seeing Clark in a suit, though. Maybe a little too much.

"Bruce." Clark beams at him - or maybe Bruce is seeing things he wants to see. Maybe it's nothing more than Clark being Clark.

"You're wearing the suit," Bruce says. He worried - but then he told himself not to make this weird; if Clark wanted to wear the suit, he'd wear the suit, and if he didn't, Bruce would simply have to live with that.

"It's a great suit." Clark smiles in a way that makes it clear he has no idea how much Bruce has paid for it. Which, to be honest, was sort of the idea. Clark can get strange about these sorts of things. "Thank you."

"No problem," Bruce says, before he realizes that this isn't that kind of 'thank you'. "I mean, you're welcome. 'tis the season, right?"

"Right." Clark's smile slips a bit.

Bruce mentally rewinds the conversation to figure out what he's said wrong.

"I didn't really think - " Clark starts. "That is to say, I didn't get you anything in return."

"Oh." Bruce decides he's not disappointed. Relieved, more like. Clark is - and Bruce is - and that's _fine_. They don't need to make a whole thing out of this. They can just be friends, and if Bruce sometimes wants to be a little more than friendship, then Clark clearly does not, so it's all good.

"Sorry," Clark says. His smile is back, a bit sheepish this time.

"Don't worry about it. I mean, maybe you hadn't heard, but I'm pretty rich."

"I did hear something about that, as a matter of fact." Clark's smile turns into a grin, and Bruce tells himself that no matter how much it feels like it, his insides have not just turned all gooey. "Still. It's the thought that counts, isn't it? So what do you want?"

 _You._ Not that Bruce is going to say so out loud. The team - they've got something good going on here. He's not about to ruin all of that just because Clark makes him feel gooey.

Clark cocks his head. "Want me to guess?"

"Socks," Bruce says. It's the first thing that pops into his mind that's nice and cheap and innocuous.

"Socks? You get cold feet during those long winter nights?" Clark shakes his head. "I'm not going to get you socks, Bruce. Unless - "

"Unless?" Bruce doesn't even _want_ Clark to get him socks. Bruce has got plenty of socks. Admittedly, none of them were presents from Clark, but what does that matter? They're socks.

"Unless you really, really want them, I guess. In which case I should probably burn this note." Clark holds it out. Bruce would recognize the handwriting anywhere.

_'Will you be Bruce's date for the Christmas Party? Check yes or no.'_

Clark has checked 'yes'. Possibly, that means Bruce should reconsider his first impulse, which is that he's going to _kill_ Alfred. Or at least yell at him a little, not that Alfred's going to be at all impressed by that.

"Damn Alfred," Bruce says, because if Clark doesn't mean that 'yes' the way Bruce thinks? wants? hopes? him to mean it, he's definitely going to blame the misunderstanding on _someone_.

Clark's gone back to beaming. "You know, I was really beginning to think that you didn't like me."

"That suit you're wearing cost more than you make in a year," Bruce says. "Before taxes."

"Did it?" Clark looks down at himself. "My goodness."

Bruce feels like he's being played with. Which is all right; he doesn't mind being played with a bit when it's Clark, and Clark's just having a bit of fun. Bruce is fine with Clark having a bit of fun.

"I don't _not_ like you," he says.

"So what you're saying is: you like me." Clark's expression borders on 'smug'.

"Well, I don't hate you," Bruce says.

"You love me?" Clark suggests cheerily.

"I wouldn't say _that_ ," Bruce says. He wonders where he can get a drink. It's a party; surely there are drinks to be found somewhere?

"All right. So what do you want for Christmas? A date? A kiss? If there's any mistletoe around, I'm sure we can arrange something."

Bruce groans. "I wanted to see you in a suit." It feels way too much like a confession.

"That's all? I think we can do better than that, don't you?" Clark steps forwards.

Bruce is pretty sure that Clark's not going to kiss him in full view of a few hundred of Gotham's most prominent citizens. There is such a thing as discretion, after all, and Clark enjoys his life as a nameless, not particularly successful reporter. Kissing Bruce in public would ruin that pretty thoroughly, so really, there's no way Clark is actually planning to -

His mistake.


End file.
